Bleed For Me
by Darkesthourtrees888
Summary: I never pictured this moment happening to me, yet here we are. My sister has seen behind the mask. (Sorry, I suck at summaries!) My take on Season 7. Multiple chapters to come :D
1. Chapter 1

Hey, guys! So this is my first "Dexter" fanfic...so be nice. Anyway, I finished watching season 6 (holy shit what an ending) and I got inspired to continue on from the end, and fill in what I think will happen/what I want to happen (teehee). I know there is already a 7th season, and I've seen it up to episode 5, but I just had my own ideas in my head that I needed to get down. This is going to be extremely long with multiple chapters, but all will be from Dexter's POV. It picks up RIGHT after Deb walks in on him killing Travis, and nothing has been changed from the original plot that Showtime has created. Anyway, I hkope you enjoy it :)

"Maybe there really is a place for me in this world. Afterall, light cannot exist without darkness. If there is a purpose, as Brother Sam said there is, then maybe my purpose is to bring balance to the world."

Bleed For Me

"Oh, God." The irony of my words affects me just as much as the sight of my sister walking into the church does. What the fuck is she doing here? This isn't supposed to be happening. I was never supposed to let her in on my dirty, ugly secret, and yet, here she is, standing before me, her face twisted into unreadable emotions ranging from complete shock to sadness. My dark passenger exposed to the one person I thought I could always protect from it. It takes awhile before she moves, but when she does her hand immediatly reaches for her belt where her gun is secured. It seems as though the notion that I'm her brother never occurs to her; she raises the gun on me as if I'm a complete stranger, and I might as well be.

"Get away from the body!" Her posture is straight, her tone loud and demanding, like it normally would be when she's taking down a criminal. For all someone could tell, they would think she's determinded, unwavered. But I can see the end of the gun shaking ever so slightly and her arms trembling as she aims the pistol at my chest. I raise my hands up as if to surrender, allowing the knife that I had just stabbed Travis with to clatter to the ground.

"Deb-" I can barely pronounce her name. It comes out as a quiet whisper that for some reason, sounds far away. She becomes a blur, a simple blob moving in front of my darting green eyes. Is this a dream? I think. Did I really just kill Travis? Yes, I had to have. I can feel his limp body laying on the alter in front me, even in my dazed mind I can remember the conversation that had just taken place between us before Deb walked in. I can even fucking see his blood covering my hands, oozing from the wound in his chest and spilling over onto the tile floor. This is real. "It's me."

"I know it's you, you dumbass, just back the fuck away!" If it weren't for the intensity of the situation I would most likely be taking admiration into her foul-mouth. Still, I obey, sort of like a dog to its master, because afterall, I've spent my whole life following suit to a dead guy who one could argue, did more wrong than good and ended up getting my mother killed. That and the detail that if I don't Deb could easily have the whole Miami Metro team on my ass in a mere second. "Who's on the alter?" She demands, never averting her eyes from mine, yet I can still see the gun trembling. Her voice is even starting to crack. I owe her the truth at least.

"Travis Marshall."

She inhales and shakes her head as if trying to deny the words she just heard come from my mouth. I can only imagine what she's feeling.

"Dexter, Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?" There's no possible way to explain this. At least not in a sane sense that she will understand. I can't say this was done in the heat of the moment, or that it was "by accident". Everything in front of me; the body, the knives, the apron, the overall ritaul that I take part in every time I kill is upon me. Maybe, I think, there is a way to cover it up; explain to her that Travis kidnapped Harrison, but I don't want to lie to her anymore than I already have. I lie to everyone I know, except to my victums right before they die. "Dexter!" Her voice breaks through my mind once again. Shit. Ths is isn't going away, so I blurt out the first sensibly reasonable explanation that crosses my mind, and evidentally, it's the thruth.

"I...snapped." The moment I say it, the words taste sour on my tongue. I'm expecting her to yell, maybe even cry, but to my surprise, Deb starts giggling in an odd, half choking half sobbing sort of way. I wonder if _she's _gone insane. "Uh, Deb?" I ask, hoping she hasn't lost it.

"What's wrong with me?" She responds. I notice tears in her eyes. What the hell is this? Deb's never been great at controlling her emotions, but whatever this is, it's a lot worse. For a moment I can almost forget her gun that's still pointed directly at me.

"What's wrong with _you?"_ I ask. Considering she just walked in on me killing someone, she's the one that no longer can come up with a sane response.

"Am I seriously that fucking retarded?" She asks, her voice getting higher and more hysterical, "I must be the worst cop in history if I couldn't even tell that my own brother was a fucking pyscho!"

"Deb," I try to reconcile with her the only way I know how, "don't feel bad, you're-"

"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!" she shouts, streadying the end of the gun.

"I'm trying to help!" I take a step towards her, hoping that she'll embrace me the many time she always did whenver she needed...someone to hold onto. And it hurts when she steps back, away from me; the fear of losing Deb, the way she's looking at me. It hurts almost as much as watching my mother being chopped to bits and pieces. As much as slicing my brother's throat and finding Rita dead in that bathtub. As much as hearing Harrison's screams as he sat in a pool of her blood. But not as much as the sound of the trigger that reverbates against the church walls when I take another step towards her.

A sharp pain, not emotional for the first time, shoots through my abdamon, taking my breath away. I see Deb's face, tears falling down her cheeks, watching me. I can feel the blood seeping from the bullet wound, but I know it's not fatal. Without hesitation I drop to my knees at the same time Deb drops the gun from her hands and moves towards me in the same, swift moment.

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ, I'm sorry, Dex...Fuck, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean...Fuck!" she screams, but she throws herself against me, fiercly, wrapping her frail arms around my neck. As if she can somehow hug the pain right out of me. I feel my body beginning to go limp.

"You just...snapped, Deb," I breathe into her hair. I don't feel pain anymore, I simply black out. The last thing I hear is Deb's strangled, mumbled, sobs.


	2. Chapter 2

Fire.

Often times in literature it's a symbol of power or strength, passion and lust that's kindled deep beneath our skin. As children, we're told not to touch it's flames in the fear of getting burned, and I hear Rita's voice warning Cody not to get too close to it, like she did on that one oddly too-chilly-for-Miami night. Yet the older we become, the more that fire, hatred, surfaces. We're not shielded from the enmity that is everyday life, and we watch the flames dance around us, engulfing those who might stand in our way, or in the way of those we love. They remind me of the flames I plan on seeing in Hell...if there really is one. And I can't figure that out yet. Harrison needs me, my sister. I forgive her for shooting me. I know the feeling of being under a stressful moment. When I open my eyes, the darkness slips away.

Mr. Morgan? I don't recognize the voice; instead I'm trying to focus on figuring out where I am. Then I realize that the voice is just a figment of my fucked up mind. The ground is cold and rocky, but I can feel the blood boiling beneath my skin. Wind; I can feel it. It goes, silently, like a card pyramid blown by a gentle breeze. At least I'm alive.

My vision is blurry, but not like the way I feel when my dark passenger's driving; to be honest, I feel delusional. The Miami sun strikes down on me. I'm outside of the church. My bullet wound has been, more or less, bandaged up. Deb, I think. She's no doctor, but she's always been able to figure things out. Where is she now? I never wanted to hurt her. Actually, I never wanted to hurt anyone, – unless those who deserved it, and even then I only sought to wound their flesh, not to shatter their hearts like I know I've shattered hers. She's the last person in the world I want to look at me in fear or contempt – and yet I know I haven't given anyone else scars as deep as the ones that I've carved into her soul. I've left little wounds and bruises on her body, mainly from all the times I lied to her. This is the biggest wound of all. I haven't made anyone else bleed like she will bleed for me – because she is the only person in this world who loves me, the only person who trusts me unconditionally…until now.

And so I feel fire when I see her come into my blurred vision. From hatred, desire, instinct, I'm not sure. She squats down and lays her hand over the bandage.

"Ow, Deb," I respond, knowing all too well that my sister has always been a bit of a brute.

"Pressure will stop the bleeding." Her tone is flat and makes the hair on my neck stand on end, but not from fear. It's not fear that tightens around my throat like a vice; it's not fear, the feeling that's slicing through my chest from the inside. I can't recognize the feeling; I can't tell why suddenly air has abandoned my lungs, why even breathing hurts so much. I just know that the dead look in her eyes is tearing me apart. She gently pulls off the gauze and wraps a new piece around it.

"I forgive you…" It's a stupid thing to say. Every word I say is true, but it doesn't matter. I've killed her all the same.

"Hmm," she gives that weird, crooked smile of hers, not meeting my eyes, "well, I don't."

Before I know it, she's pulling me up, and I'm once again overcome by an excruciating pain in my abdomen.

"Jeez, Deb, take it easy, will ya?"

"Fuck you, Dexter," she says, and there's a sudden spark in her eyes that allows me breathe again. "Get in the fucking trunk!"

What? Trunk? I notice that the back trunk on Deb's car has been cleared out.

"Uhh-''

"_Now, _Dexter!" she interrupts me. I do as I'm told. I could have put up a fight, could have made one last struggle for survival. But, I know that that would involve hurting her again, and I can't bring myself to do that.

She is lounging against the side of the car, her arms folded over her chest, her eyes fixed upon the dying sun in the horizon. She doesn't turn to look at me when I get up and walk closer. Her face still looks like a marble statue, but I think that I can distinguish a glimpse of feeling underneath the darkness in her gaze. She blurts out the most random question; "Did Dad know?" She's talking about Harry knowing about my darkness. I could lie to her. I could even go so far as to pretend I don't know anything she's talking about and avoid her future suffering, but I have been pretending for my entire life, and now it comes crashing down on me...on both of us.

"Yes, he did."

Her expression – or lack of thereof – doesn't change. I swallow, and I should say something else, try to explain – no words seem to be coming to my lips, though, and so I remain in silence. She seems to have forgotten the whole thing with the trunk.

"Did...did Rudy know as well?"

Brian, my brother. Deb doesn't need to know all the details; that I used to look up to him, that he tried to get me to kill her, but I saved her instead and killed him. I killed him...for her. She can't know...not yet. I closee my eyes, then open them again. No matter how much time comes to pass, Brian will always be a sore subject for me – for both of us.

"He did."

She nods, almost imperceptibly, and bites her lip. I stare at her, taking in her stony face, her green eyes. She doesn't look like my little sister anymore. And yet, the look on her face is not entirely unfamiliar. "Thanks for not letting me bleed to death..." I try, attempting to change the subject, though I know all too well that this "subject" isn't going anywhere.

"You lied to me," she whispers, crossing her arms against her chest, completely ignoring my previous words.

"But you knew." The moment the words escape my lips, I know they are true even though the thought has never crossed my mind before. She knew. I don't know for how long, I don't know to what extent, but a part of her has known what I am for a long time, a part of her must have accepted it to some level or she would have acted before this. She turns her head and looks directly into my eyes for the first time. There's pain in there, and something inside me clenches at the sight of it. But there's also resolution.

"Get in the car, Dexter. You're driving now."


	3. Chapter 3

The time in which I got in Deb's car and began driving to who knows where, to the time it is now is somewhat of a blur. It's not like me, not like _her, _to just pick up everything and leave. Ever since we were children, Deb has always faced a problem head on. Dad called her a "firecracker" once, because she wouldn't shut her mouth when he refused to let her hunt with us. Sometimes I feel like that's the real reason she became a cop; she's good at it, knows how to stay level headed and fight her way through things with words. None of that "I want dad to accept me" bullshit. Deb's a natural when it comes to fighting for what she believes is right. Yet here we are, laying in bed in one of those cheap motel rooms off the side of some dusty, empty road. It almost reminds me of that hotel Brian and I stayed in when we were hunting down Jonah.

I'm sure Deb isn't done interogating me; there are many questions that still need to be answered, but for the time being, I watch her. She had yelled at me when we first arrived at the motel, along with much of her colorful vocabulary, but collapsed soon after. I figure she's had a rough day. Travis Marshall got away from her (at least _I _was able to take him down), and she figured out her brother was a killer. I had questioned her sanity for the briefest moment when she first suggested that we run away. It won't work. It _can't _work. Serial killers, eventually, always have to get caught. But she had insisted.

The room is dark, has a damp feeling to it, but at least you can't hear the traffic outside, only Deb's breathing. I watch, for some reason, her chest rise up and down with each breath. All the covers have been kicked off to the side, the way she always done since when she was little, and her right arm is tucked underneath the pillow. My eyes begin to feel heavy just when her mouth opens slightly, and her lips form my name.

"_Dexter."_

Numbly, I respond, "what?" but recieve no answer to my question, just my name, a simple statement, as if she's speaking to me in person, over and over again. Maybe she's dreaming. I can't stand dreams. Most of them are nightmares, but perhaps Deb really does want me to stay around. She doesn't want to lose me.

"Anybody know where Morgan is?" Masuka walks into Batista's office, blood slide in hand.

"Yeah," Batista reponds, lifting his head up from his paper work, "she went to the church." Masuka shakes his head.

"I meant male Morgan. He was supposed to test this sample for me, and I haven't seen him all day." Masuka's eyebrows crease together, "come to think of it," he says, pointing at Batista, "I haven't seen him _or_ female Morgan all day."

"Maybe Deb was upset about the whole Travis Marshall deal and decided to stay home for awhile, and Dex was just going to be there to comfort her," Batista responds, putting his head back down. A grin spreads across Masuka's face.

"Yeah, totally spending some quality time together, if you get what I mean." Batista looks disgusted.

"They're brother and sister, you moron."

"Not by blood," Masuka laughs.

I actually sleep well...that is, until I hear my sister's blood curdling scream sometime around 6 in the morning. It starts out more as a cry but becomes a sob, followed by my name again, although much louder this time.

"Dexter!" She thrashes around a bit, and just like that I'm on her bed leaning over her, trying to pin her arms down.

"Deb," I say, sternly, "_Deb!_" The thrashing stops, and her eyes snap open, meeting mine, "I'm here," I tell her in an attempt to calm her down. It's not until now that I realize the awkward position we're in. Her face scrunches up, and she shoves me off her.

"Don't you _fucking _touch me!" She sits straight up. Not only has she woken me up early in the morning, but now I'm going to have a bruise on my ass from falling so hard.

"Okay, alright, I'm sorry," I say, holding up my hands to show her I mean no harm. My sister's never been good with change. She gets up and moves right past me towards the bathroom.

"I can't believe I'm staying here in this damn motel," she calls, turning on the water from the sink.

"It was _your_ idea," I say under my breath, not really wanting her to hear. I pick myself up from off the floor, slip into my pants and button down shirt. By the time I've slipped on my watch and turn around, Deb's already sitting on the bed again, dressed, but her face is stained with tears. I can't stand to see Deb upset. I'm not really sure what that means, if that makes me more human to be able to feel for another person, but it's not the first time she's looked at me like that. Longing. Her desires to know me. To really know _me. _

"You shouldn't be here, Dex..." she says between sobs.

"What do you mean?" I cock my head to the side like a dog does to its master when confused.

"I mean you should be home. With Harrison. He needs you."

"Well, you need me too," I add. Deb lets out a half chuckle, half cry, "I never wanted you to find out this way..." I say.

"So what, you were just going to keep fucking lying to me? You and dad?"

"Dad was trying to do what was best for you," I correct, but I wish I hadn't said it. I'm sick of protecting Harry.

"By leaving me out of everything?! Jesus fucking Christ, I'm his daughter for God's sake!"

"_I_ wanted to tell," I whisper. She remains quiet long enough for me to finish, "I almost did," I tell her, "but he stopped me." Her mouth opens, hangs there, in disbelief.

"W-when?"

"That one night you came into my room when you couldn't sleep," her now emotionless expression doesn't change. I can almost read her eyes, urging me to continue, "you curled up on the floor," I give a small smile, "I would have let you come into the bed, but I knew it made you feel embarassed that you were still scared to sleep in your own room." Deb's eyebrows crease together. I can tell I'm painting a memory into her head. She's slowly remembering. "I almost did it...but dad overheard and stopped me in time."

"Were you scared?" she whispers.

"About what?"

"About...me not accepting this."

"No," I lie. It scared the shit out of me. The thought of Deb shunning me, never to be a part of my life again. My light suddenly dissapearing. It's why I hate myself for almost slipping the truth that one night. It's why I killed Brian.

"Then why didn't you say it...Do you even care?!"

"About you? Of course, Deb."

"About anyone!" she shrugs.

"Yes," I say in all seriousness. Deb lets out a breath.

"How do I even know if you're telling the truth? You lied to me about everything."

"Not _everything," _I counter, "I meant what I said...that day of my boat accident...that I love you. That was never a lie, Deb."

"You can't love me-" _knock, knock, knock. _There's a pounding on the door. Who the hell would have been able to find us?

I remain calm, as I do under most alarming situations. Deb's never been good at that, though. I can already hear her heart accelerate. "Who the fuck is that?"

"I don't know," I breathe, pushing her away from me as I stride to the door.

"You better not fucking answer that, Dex." As if she can stop me. I disobey her, my hand just grazing the door knob, only to hear the knocking once again. I fling open the door. Standing behind it is the most beautiful women I've ever seen. And that's saying a lot...for me.


	4. Chapter 4

_"Hannah." _The word seems to roll off her tongue when I ask who she is. Blond, like Rita, green-eyed like myself, and as I examen her carefully with them, I notice she's covered in small incision marks on her arms and wrist. Years of doing drugs. I can't let Astor become like that; it's a good thing Cody pulled the pot out when he did. My mouth falls open ever so slightly as I stare at her in awe. Deb looks at me, then Hannah, rolling her eyes.

"I was just coming to give you the room key," She holds it out in front of me, "my manager forgot." I reach my hand out to grab the keys, but I'm more focused on her face. I watch the way her lips move with each word she speaks, so normal, so natural, so-

"Thank you," Deb growls as she shoves me out of the way and grabs the key from her. Hannah lets out a breath but still smiles.

"Sure."

"And tell your manager that we'll be checking out by tomorrow," Deb says and goes back to her bed. I shake my head and raise my eyebrow at Hannah.

"Sorry about that, she's had a rough day," I try.

"I'll just tell him you'll be ready to leave by tomorrow," Hannah smiles, but this time I can tell it's forced. She turns and walks away as I lightly shut the door behind her.

"What the fuck was that all about?" My sister sits up in bed.

"She was giving me the key, like she said," I reply, irritated.

"Well then maybe next time just take the damn key instead of standing there and staring like a fucking moron," Deb says to me, then turns back away from me.

I hate this. Whenever it seems like Deb and I are making progress and finding our way back to eachother, one of us takes another wrong turn. It doesn't feel the same. She was right, she shouldn't be here. I should be doing this on my own, not dragging her along. Harry's always warned me about this. I take a look at Deb as she lays back down, and then the scene plays over in my head again, as if it isn't real.

I took a breath, steadied my hands on my trusted blade, and stabbed Travis in a smooth movement, puncturing his heart. There's nothing in that moment. Nothing except my dark passenger as he lusts for the blood that spills from Travis' limp body. I heard a gasp and looked up. The next moment would be carved into my twisted memory forever. Like every defining moment in my life, it was filled with blood. From Travis' wound slowly leaking onto the plastic sheeting, to the bloody room in which I watched my mother get murdered, and now to the draining from my sister's face as it becomes ashen white.  
I knew then that Deb's face would join my mother's, and Rita's in the part of my head that transcends good and evil. I could see Deb's face clearly, even from across the darkened church, every line. From the curve of her mouth, which is unable to speak, to the nape of her neck, all the way up to her eyes...her eyes…All my senses went into overdrive, as they always do in those glorious moments when I take a life. I could smell the dust and mold coming from the dilapidated building. The only noise was from a passing car. My mouth tasted like ash, and my skin was both frozen and on fire. And underneath it all was my old companion, the blood. I could smell the faintly sweet scent it has when it's just been spilled. I could hear it dribbling on the floor. I could feel it running down my hands. I swear I could even taste its metal flavoring on my tongue.  
I felt overwhelmed. Both the incredible high I get from killing another human being and the absolute horror of having my darkness displayed in front of my sister's eyes become a single outburst. I gave in and accept that Travis had been right. The world, my world, ended that night. Having faith in a higher power, something I can't even see, was just a bunch of bullshit. It's been clear that since my mother's death, I'm the only one with higher power.  
"De..." I couldn't even bring myself to say her name, yet as I stared into her eyes, I felt a strange sense of connection. Like we were both being shattered in that exact same moment, and despite the cold that started to seep into my bones, and the whispers in my head that had reawakened, I had never felt so closely connected to a human being. Standing in front of me was the first and only person in the world to have seen every feature of Dexter Morgan; son, father, brother, friend, and now, serial killer.  
I slowly laid my knife on the table and stepped in front of Travis' body in some vain attempt to spare my sister the gruesome details. I remember I was suddenly worried about how I was going to dispose of the body, but I had pushed it to the back of my mind. I took a single, slow step towards her, like I'd done a thousand times before I gave her a hug, and she backed away from me, as if burned.  
"No! Sta...Stay away! Just stay the fuck away."  
The words had cut me like a scalpel. The high of killing, the sense of completeness, of connection, left me instantly, and the only thing left was cold. Bitter cold. The darkness receded, and all that was left was her face, from which I couldn't look away. There was a myriad of emotions moving across her face. Yet one that was absent was the look of adoration, of love, that was always there when she looked at me. The ending of a life, especially if that ending is brutal, deliberate, and done in cold blood, always awakens something powerful in people. In regular human beings, it seems to resonate with some primal fear and disgust that forces them to stay as far away as possible. Of course for me, it awakens something entirely different.  
She sank to her knees.  
"De…" Once again I tried to say her name but couldn't. I dropped to my knees as well.  
She was hyperventilating, and her eyes never left mine. I was stuck in a surreal moment. I actually began to think back on my time with my sister over the years. She'd been my only constant since I can remember. If I could have friends, she would be my best. The light to my consistant darkness. The one person who has always loved me. Who could ever love a monster? I kept asking myself that question, yet she's kept me tethered to humanity so many times. After Harry's death, I had given serious consideration to leaving Miami, feeling the need to be free of his shadow and the heaviness of the lie that for many years I believed I had kept up only for his benefit. I had thought of starting somewhere new, alone, unencumbered, only my darkness for company. But it had been the thought of leaving Deb behind that kept me here, and on the path Harry had set for me.  
"Hey!" Startled out of my musings, my eyes refocused, and I could see that Deb was now on her feet again, looking a little more in control with her hand wrapped on the handle of her gun.  
"Deb," I answer, still at a complete loss over what to say, but able to finally pronounce her name.  
"Dexter, what the fuck?"  
"Jeez, Deb, relax your breathing or you're gonna pass out," I told her, as I could see she had begun to sway a little.  
"Don't! Just don't!" But she took my advice anyway and seemed to relax a little. Her hand didn't leave her weapon, though.  
"Could you lower your gun? Please?" I practically begged. It sounded helpless, definately not something a serial killer would say, but I couldn't get anything out properly with her weapon aiming directly at my chest.  
"You better have a good fucking explanation for this," she said in her cop voice, the one she uses when she's interigating suspects in her crime investigations, but then she became just my sister again, "please," she pleaded, in a small voice.  
Denial is a powerful emotion, especially within Deb. It's practically her default mode for dealing with anything she doesn't like. This particular trait of my sister's has served me well over the years, overriding everyone of her finely tuned cop instincts to the point where I was convinced that the only way she would ever conceive of me doing something bad would be to find me…in the exact position I was while killing Travis.  
"SAY SOMETHING!"  
I jerked up, lost in my thoughts again. I was strangely contemplative given the situation. I stood up and walked sedately to the small table upon wich my tools were laid out, decision made.  
"There is an explanation, and I will give it you…but I'm afraid you won't like it." I had slowly lifted my hand in front of me. Between my fingers was a vile of blood. Travis Marshall's blood.  
I had looked and gave her a smile. My true one. It was a little dark, and a little predatory, but honest.

I had hid the blood from LaGuerta. She had done her part to throw them off, and now here we are, still fighting each other.

Fuck my life.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day is a killer. No pun intented. As it turns out, we don't end up leaving the hotel like Deb had said, instead we stay there all day. And to make matters worse, we don't say even two words to eachother. I'm almost afraid to speak, knowing she takes everything I say the wrong way. She fumbles through all my things; my forensics bag, knives etc...dumps them out onto the motel floor and carefully picks up each item to examin it. I watch, staying near in case I have to give her some sort of explanation, but she doesn't ask questions. She has this look in her eyes, almost like she's deciding something. It almost makes me jump when she finally speaks with her normal potty mouth.

"Shit," she trails off, but then starts again, "Fuck, I can't do it." I raise my eyebrow in confusion, as my sister appears to be talking to the floor, but then she turns her attention to me. "I can't do it, and you know it!" She screams while pointing a wild, accusing finger at me. Just as always, I'm not sure how to react. That and the fact that I don't really know what the hell she's talking about.

"Can't do what, Deb?" I question, honestly. She gives me a look of pure disgust.

"Turn you in, asshole."  
Her words bring relief, for while I'm exposing my demons to her, she must also see light. I give her a quick glance and find that she's now sitting in the corner of the room, her knees pulled up to her chest, hyperventilating. Maybe she'll pass out and save me the trouble.  
"Thank you," I say, numbly, and then add an extra " it means a lot to hear you say that." This time I actually mean it.  
"Screw you," she says, coldly, but I've learned over the years to just ignore her bad temper, "Do you think I'm an idiot? That I'm just going to sit here while you fucking lie and pretend! I know how good you are at it now..."  
"No," I retort, " I don't think you're an idiot, Deb, that's the point, and you're right, I did lie a lot. But I'm here now. I'm ready to tell you everything, right here, right now, but are you ready to listen? It's not a pretty story, and it could…...hurt you." I wince at the thought of hurting her anymore than I already have. My sincerity must have shown because she lays her head back against the wall. After a moment of contemplation, she nods.  
"Talk."  
"Well I'm sure you already know most of this, but I'll start from the beginning. You need to know everything if you're to…decide. You remember when I told you about how Harry was having an affair with another woman?" I take a breath and listen for her response. She has been remarkably stoic so far, but her composure cracks a little when I mention her father. Not too good of memories.  
"Yeah, why?" She finally asks when she gets the strength to.  
"Well," I pause, choosing my words carefully, "that woman was my mother, and I think he may have had something to do with the reason why she was murdered." I pause once again. This is harder than I thought. After all, I'm hardly the emotional type, yet, I still feel like my stomach is weighted with lead. Deb just stares at me. It's a bit eerie, so I continue when she doesn't answer, "Her death had a...huge effect on me-"  
"And twenty years later you're going around killing people like there's no fucking tomorrow!" She intrupts me, and I'm kind of relieved she does. I know she's paying attention and further more, still alive.  
"I've been doing it for longer than that, and furthermore, it's not like that, I'm...I...try to be as civil about it as possible."  
"There's _nothing_ civil about murder, Dex," she whispers, in disbelief. She's right, there's not. Taking another person's life, not only is it not alright in the eyes of others, it's also a moral sin. Not that I care.  
"I mean I didn't want anyone to know about it. By keeping it a secret from everyone I would be protecting them. Especially you...you're my sister, it's second nature for me to protect you...even from myself."  
"I'm _not_ your sister," She proclaims. I'm eerily reminded of a moment when we were younger. I had told her that she was my sister, that's why I was caring about her, and her response was a simple; _no, I am not. _  
"Maybe not, but I'm still your brother, whether you like it or not… can I continue?" I see her make a conscious effort to calm herself by taking deep and steady breaths.  
"Go on."  
"Harry took me in and trained me...about how to blend in. I looked fine on the outside-"  
"But you weren't on the inside?" she asks me in a small voice, absent the forceful undertones.  
I exhale, "No, I wasn't. I can't remember the first time I noticed it, it feels like it's always been there, even though I know I must have been free of it at some point…"  
"What the fuck are you talking about?" She leans forward, elbows resting on her knees.  
"I'm talking about my darkness, Deb, about…evil. It climbed inside me that day in the cargo container. It's like a virus spreading. It started small, but then grew larger, and infected everything, and soon enough it was a part of me. Like an extra limb, or a sixth sense, it was just there. My...dark passenger." Deb stares at me again, eyes wide.  
"I…I don't.." I can tell she's trying to make sense of all this, " understand…"  
"Yes you do! You know how killers are created. You're a cop. You've read police manuals, psychology books, profiles, and accounts. I'm no different. Having someone I was so...close to...just...disappear like that, without saying goodbye...broke me."  
"I get _that_," she tells me," I just don't see how you could have possibly kept it a fucking secret all this time!"  
"Harry helped me. He trained me, trained me to lie to fit in."  
"So you don't feel anything at all?" She whispers in disbelief, "everything you've ever fucking said to me was just you lying?" I don't know how to explain it to her. For so long I've had to rely on my lying skills to make it through simple tasks, but there have been moments where I've felt...connected to others.  
"Not everything, Deb." I hear her breath hitch, as her lips part slightly. Is this a good sign? I have no idea. Then I say, "Harry's idea was that, if my darkness couldn't be destroyed, or controlled, it could at least be channelled. He helped me come up with a code. I only kill people that fit the code." She scoffs and gives a harsh laugh. "Now I know you're fucking lying. Dad would never do that, not in a million years! He was a good cop! A hero! Everyone knows that. He did _everything _for you."  
"Yes, he was a good cop, and a hero, but he was also an angry man, full of regrets, and longing to make a real difference. He saw his chance in me. So he started teaching me how to become-"  
"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up! That didn't happen!"  
"Come on, Deb, you remember the consistant talking between dad and I, the secretive meetings, us also leaving you behind on trips, my strange behaviour!" She averts her eyes from me. I know I've hurt her. "Deb," I exhale, rubbing my face with my hands.  
"Why didn't you tell me?!" She's shouting now, "why couldn't you have just fucking told me?!" _Me, _Dexter!" I can actually see tears coming from her eyes.  
"I don't know!" I yell back at her, " I never asked for it! I never wanted to become like this!" I'm shouting now, even starting to get on my feet, scooping up my box of blood slides.  
"NO!" she roars, and snatches the box from my hands and hurls it right at the wall, shattering it into a million pieces that fall to the floor. I see red, the same sight I get before I make a kill. Without thinking, I lunge forward, grab her wrists, and pull her towards me. In a smooth movement, I have her back pressed against the same wall she threw my slides at. I, myself, am inches from her, my hands trapping hers above her head. I'm so close that our bodies are pressed against each other. It would be an extrememly awkward position if it wasn't for the fact that I'm furious at her. I can feel her erratic heartbeat, smell the sweat emanating from her pores, see her pupils dilate. I inch closer. She doesn't say anything...just looks at me, her green eyes searching mine. But I can tell that anger is bubbling up inside her as well from the way her chest heaves in and out against my own, and her mouth forms a deep scowl. It's the words she finally speaks that drag me from my killer state.  
"Go ahead," she says, "kill me if that's what you think will solve this." Maybe it's because I know I could never do it, or because this time it's not some random stranger I've got pinned to the wall, it's my sister, but my hands losen their grip on her wrists, and both of our arms fall to our sides. I back away from her, not exactly sure what the fuck I just did.

"I'm- I'm sorry," I say, and head into the bathroom, leaving the mess on the floor. Deb doesn't even move. Maybe it was better when we weren't saying anything.


End file.
